


Growing Up is Hard to Do

by RubyFiamma



Series: Gangsta. Request Drabbles [4]
Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunkenness, Family Fluff, M/M, No Romance, Parent-Child Relationship, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doug thinks he's outsmarted his parents by sneaking off to a college frat party. Little does he know karma is a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Up is Hard to Do

**Author's Note:**

> erwinsmisu asked:  
>  _ooooo congrats on almost reaching 500!! and for the prompt i would love to see cute domestic galahad and doug!! platonic ofc gimme that father/son love (i wouldnt mind seeing hausen tho)_

**Growing Up is Hard to Do**

* * *

 

“I knew this was going to happen,” Doug hears from above his head. “I shouldn’t have let him go.”

“We didn’t know it was going to be a college frat party, Gal. He told us he was staying at a friend’s house. We’ve told him about drinking, so he knows the consequences, yet he still did it anyway. What’s done is done.”

Hausen’s voice now, likely from the doorway of the bathroom and Doug can see him leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest disapprovingly. He rolls his eyes, despite knowing Hausen is right and before he has a chance to snap a retort, he’s snagged by another wave of nausea.

He heaves, but nothing comes out, and beads of sweat are rolling down his forehead and over his brow, stinging his eyes with salt. He feels like shit, and all he wants to do is go to bed without his parents lecturing him but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen any time soon.

“But what if his drink was spiked?” Galahad asks, his hand clasped just a bit too tightly around a handful of Doug’s dreads. They pull at his scalp when he leans forward to retch again, the bathroom still spinning like he were on some whirling carnival ride.

“He’d have to have more than just one drink to get like that,” Hausen argues. “When the neighbours called us they said Doug was stumbling down the street, stripping off his clothes. And when we picked him up, he kept asking you not to arrest him. Only you couldn’t understand him because his speech was so slurred. He’s  _drunk,_ Gal.”

Doug groans embarrassment as Galahad snorts. Had he really done those things? He can’t remember most of the night, except the gorgeous sophomore girl that kept smiling at him from across the room and the many drinks he tossed back in hopes of gaining enough liquid courage to talk to her.

“You gotta admit it was a bit entertaining,” Galahad says. Doug can feel his grip loosen at his hair, the brush of his fingertips across his forehead as Galahad catches a stray dread that’s fallen out of the other’s hold.

“Even so, how did he get in to the party?” Hausen muses. “He’s only sixteen and looks young enough to be trouble.”

“Fake ID,” murmurs Doug, it echoes off the enclosed space of the toilet where he’s currently got his face pressed against the smooth-cool of porcelain. He hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words poured out of his mouth like his stomach contents had just moments before.

“Fake ID, huh?” Galahad repeats, tugging gently at Doug’s hair. “So you lied to us?”

“Mm… yes – no – oh god –” Doug arches up over the toilet as another surge of nausea hits, heat flushes his body and he feels like he’s on fire. He gags but there’s nothing coming up and Doug can’t be certain if he’s grateful for that or not. There’s spittle flying off his lips, tears from his burning eyes streaking salt down his face and his throat is so raw and sore he doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk for weeks.

“I think that’s the worst of it,” Galahad says, letting Doug’s hair go and tucking the locks under the hood of his sweater. They feel strange against his hot skin, but Doug doesn’t pay much attention to that. He’s too busy zeroing in on the soothing motion of Galahad’s fingers stroking against his scalp.

“I’ll get him some water – carry him to bed, will you?” says Hausen, and Doug lifts his head slowly out of the toilet to find both his parents grinning at him.

“You’re a mess,” Hausen teases, his mouth to soft and eyes too affectionate for it to be an insult.

“We’ll talk about your punishment in the morning. And if you think about lying to us again – we took pictures of you trying to streak down the street,” Galahad laughs, mussing Doug’s hair. The motion makes him feel queasy, but he thinks he’s beginning to sober up.

“Don’t worry,” Hausen says. “We’ll only use them to embarrass you in front of your girlfriends if you misbehave again.”

Doug groans again as he’s lifted from the floor and hoisted in Galahad’s arms. He wants to protest and tell them they’re not being fair, but instead he throws his arms around Galahad’s neck, feels Hausen’s hand rubbing a soothing circle over the small of his back and allows himself to be carried off to bed.

He thought when he left the house tonight that he was ready to be an adult, but if growing up means he has to give up moments like these, he can allow himself one more night of immaturity.


End file.
